Mallicks_Back to the Beginning

by Jessica Gadziala

  And I realized Michael had done exactly what he set out to do. He forced us to put a life sentence on the boys.

  I wasn't much of a cryer.

  But I sobbed in Charlie's arms that night, hating myself, hating my brother, hating this goddamn life that I had been the one to suggest in the first place.

  I woke up early to Charlie still sleeping soundly.

  I iced my eyelids, staring at my face until it blurred around the edges, until it looked unfamiliar.

  Then I grabbed my purse, got in the car, and drove.

  I made it a point never to drive past my childhood home, never to let those memories overtake me.

  Helga in the kitchen making Earl Grey madeleines that I did end up making for my husband and sons.

  My mother spritzing monster spray under my bed at night.

  And then, of course, the much more frequent, vivid, ugly memories.

  Many of which involved the man I demanded to see when I pulled into the driveway where I used to park my secondhand Firebird next to my father's and brother's newer, sparklier cars.

  "Who are you?" asked one of the suited guards at the door.

  "His sister," I said, voice seething, watching as he stood straighter, rushed inside to tell Michael I was there.

  Leon was the one who came out to bring me in.

  I was led down halls, once familiar, but redecorated to suit Michael's admittedly better taste, matching the Spanish villa style of the home, though where that should have made it warm and inviting, all I felt was coldness as I walked in.

  I caught sight of a woman in the kitchen, humming as she rolled dough out on the counter, and I couldn't help but wonder if her fate would be much like Helga's - a lifetime of cleaning up blood only to end up with a bullet to the brain in thanks.

  But I banked those thoughts down as I was led into what used to be my father's study, the colors deep and oppressive. Michael had torn out the bookshelves, had ripped off the wainscoting, painting the whole space an airy cream color. The floors had been stripped as well, painted a warmer maple that matched the massive executive desk he now stood behind, chin lifted, watching me enter like he was some grand king and I the lowly serf.

  Which, considering how many lives he controlled - mine and my children included - wasn't all that far off.

  "Helen," he greeted, waving a hand at his man to leave, closing the door behind him as he went.

  "I watched my son get a beating last night," I started, voice as dead as my heart felt right then. "And did nothing to stop it."

  "As per our agreement."

  "Yeah, about that," I said, lifting my chin a bit. "It's not going to work for me anymore."

  He started to laugh before he realized I was serious, making his lips curve up in a sneer.

  "Well, to be frank, that is just too fucking bad."

  I felt it then like I had felt it in the hotel room that one night when I was alone and someone thought they could take advantage of that. And me.

  Like I had felt it when one of Charlie's clients had come threateningly close to my baby.

  Like I had felt when I had been in this room the last time, nearly thirty years before.

  That animalistic urge.

  Much like the dog Charlie had once compared me too.

  Savage.

  Rabid.

  And if there was one thing we all knew about dogs, the mamas would stop at nothing to protect their pups.

  Even if their pups were all around thirty years old and capable of taking care of themselves most of the time.

  Just this once, this one last time, it was my job to secure their safety.

  My hand curled in on itself, my fingertips sneaking up the back of my sleeve near my wrist, feeling the end of it.

  Something Charlie had given all the boys.

  Something he had given me as well.

  A simple pocketknife.

  But sturdy.

  Sharp.

  I had pricked my finger just handling it once, bled for a good fifteen minutes, only after realizing I had snipped the very tip of my finger off. It was still white and scarred, felt weird to the touch.

  It would do damage.

  A lot of damage.

  But first, I had to make myself seem like less of a threat.

  So I could get close.

  So I could do what I needed to do.

  No, not just needed.

  I wanted this.

  I wanted to do this.

  The bloodthirst coursed through my veins, hot enough to catch fire.

  "Please," I begged, letting my voice hitch high and hysterical, a sound I could never be called known for, but I drew it forth from somewhere deep inside me, along with the twinkling of tears in my eyes. "Please just let them live the lives they want," I went on, moving a few feet to round the side of the desk before pausing. "You don't have to do this," I added, reaching up with both hands, pretending to wipe tears off my cheeks.

  "I don't have to. I want to."

  And that was the match that ignited the flame inside.

  My fingers found the blade, pulled, and flipped it open before he could even understand the motion.

  I closed the two feet left between us, pressing the heel of my hand into the underside of his chin with one hand while plunging with the other.

  Not slicing.

  That was the mistake with the carotid.

  People sliced.

  They needed to plunge.

  So I plunged.

  Then I watched as the blood poured out, fast and unstoppable, getting on my fingers before I pulled away.

  I watched for a few seconds while he gurgled, throat filling with blood instead of air.

  Fifteen, twenty seconds max.

  That was all it took for him to pass out, body slamming to the floor.

  I didn't need to stay to watch his chest stop rising. That would only be another forty or so more seconds.

  It was over.

  It was all finally fucking over.

  I wiped the blood off the blade on his shirt, tucked it back up my sleeve, and made my way to the door.

  Leon was still outside the door, eyeing me curiously when I stepped out for a second, nose twitching like he could smell the blood even before his eyes moved down to my bloodstained hands.

  "Don't bother. It's over," I told him. "If you're smart, you'd own it to the other men, claim his spot, and move forward." His chin lifted at that, letting me know I was right to offer it to him. "You never saw me here."

  "Saw who here?"

  "And you leave my family the fuck alone."

  "Don't even know who you are," he said, shrugging away the years he had spied on us.

  But that was all I needed to hear.

  With that, I walked out.

  When I came in the back door, careful to use the crook of my arm and elbow to do it, Charlie was in the kitchen, brow raised. Like he knew. He knew without looking.

  "You okay?"

  "I'm... it's over," I told him, giving him a nod even as he put his mug down so he could turn on the water.

  "Come on. Let's clean up," he said, waving me over. "Where is it?" he asked. I released my sleeve, shaking it, watching the knife drop into the sink. "I'll get rid of that," he told me, moving behind as I let the water run over my hands, snagging the hem of my shirt. "Arms up," he demanded. My arms immediately complied, and he stripped me of my shirt, rolling it inside out, tucking it into a garbage bag along with the knife before moving behind me again, arms reaching to help me scrub mine, scraping under my fingernails with the tips of his own, having done this way more often than I had, so having some skill at it.

  "We're all free," I told him with a small voice, feeling the weight of another life on my shoulders.

  "We are," he agreed, rinsing his fingers, patting them on a dishcloth, then wrapping his arms around me, pressing a kiss into my bare shoulder. "You did that," he reminded me. "Most amazing fucking woman I've ever met. Biggest badass in this family, and no one even
knows it."

  "You know it," I told him, feeling his words move over me like some healing salve. "Hey Charlie," I said after a long moment.

  "Yeah, baby?"

  "I think I am in need of some... ministrations," I said, feeling my lips pull up at the deep rumble in his chest.

  I felt his hand leave my belly, moving up to press down flat in the middle of my chest. "Well, you are still breathing," he said with a smile in his voice before he lowered down behind me.

  It was maybe a week later as I was walking down the street when I saw him again.

  Moving toward me, head ducked to the side like he so often did, ear almost touching his shoulder.

  The years had rounded Connor out, due to the stress of the job and, I imagined - with a heavy heart - a string of unsuccessful romances. But such was the fate of far too many good-hearted men in law enforcement. Men who married the jobs, committed to them more fully than to their women.

  "Helen," he said, giving me a familiar warm smile.

  "Connor," I greeted him back, sending him a smile as well, one for old time's sake. He was my only bridge between my old life and my new one, the only person who had known me before I even knew things like a new life were possible. For that, he would always have a special place in my heart.

  "I got some reports today about someone going missing," he started, brow lifted. "Your brother."

  "Oh, really?" I asked, feigning ignorance even though we both knew exactly what had happened. He was still a cop. I was protecting myself. And him as well. From having to cover for me. From what Charlie said, Collings was one of the few fair cops on the force at the NBPD. I didn't want to be the reason he had to lose that reputation. "Imagine that."

  His lips curved up further, this man who understood gray areas in life, who knew that some things that were illegal were still necessary.

  "You and Charlie and the boys are free."

  "We are."

  "I'm happy for you."

  I smiled, shaking my head a little.

  "I wish things could be different. I wish we could have been friends, Connor."

  "We're friends," he corrected, shaking his head. "From afar. I'll always care about you. And for as long as I can, as far as I can without overstepping lines, I will take care of Charlie. And the boys. For you."

  "You're too good of a man for words, Connor," I told him, giving his arm a squeeze. "I'll always care about you as well."

  "Ma!" Hunt's voice called, making me start.

  "You need to go."

  "Hunter is going to bring a girl home," I told him, unable to hold the smile back. Even if I wanted to. Which I didn't.

  "You'll finally have those daughters," he agreed, knowing me so well.

  "Fingers crossed. Sunday dinners are about to get a lot more interesting."

  EPILOGUE

  Helen - Sunday dinner - present timeline

  Thirty-eight years.

  It felt like nothing.

  Like a blink of an eye.

  Like I stopped to catch my breath when the boys were teenagers, and suddenly they all had families of their own.

  It was surreal to think of our lives in terms of years.

  So many yet not enough.

  "Helen," Fee's voice pulled me out of my reverie. "You okay?" she asked, brows furrowed a bit.

  I wasn't one for drifting off, for daydreaming.

  But this particular Sunday dinner fell on mine and Charlie's anniversary. It was making me uncharacteristically sentimental.

  The girls were here as they often were, helping me prep a meal that had to feed more mouths every year.

  "Yeah, just thinking," I agreed. "What did I miss?"

  "We were discussing butt plugs," Peyton announced loudly, carefree, as she always did, her belly big and growing, covered in a shirt that had a kid standing at an altar surrounded by his toys, a giant pentagram on the podium before him with the words Lets start a cult! in bold font beside it. Motherhood would not calm her. And I couldn't be happier about it. "Autumn got a new shipment of them in at the store," she added, snapping green beans into a bowl with the practiced ease of countless Sunday dinners doing the exact same thing.

  "Why am I getting the feeling there is something special about these butt plugs?" I asked, smiling at the way Dusty's and Savvy's cheeks went the slightest bit pink. Even after all the times we discussed delicate topics, they never could seem to do it with the ease of the girls like Fee, Peyton, Lea, and Autumn.

  "They're stainless steel fists," Autumn supplied with a smile as she shucked white corn, the silk getting everywhere as it so often did.

  "Fists?" Dusty asked, looking worried.

  "Why stainless steel?" Lea asked.

  "To freeze or heat before," Peyton informed us.

  "I'm pretty open to experimentation," Scotti said, brows furrowed, "but I can't imagine an entire fist up there is necessary."

  "Oh! I have something to show you!" Peyton said, face beaming, reaching for her phone.

  "No," Autumn said automatically.

  "No, what?" I asked, loving how those two had always been able to know what was on the other's mind all the time.

  "She is going to show you what happens when anal fisting is done too often."

  "I don't want to hear this, do I?" Savea asked, looking grim, prepared for the inevitable.

  "When did our conversations need to stoop to prolapses?" Lea asked, scrunching up her face. "And Peyt, babe, why the fuck do you think any of us want to see that?"

  "You're asking this of someone who put 2 Hookers and an 8 Ball on her delivery playlist," Scotti told us.

  "Hey," Peyton said, pointing a green bean at Dusty. "She's the one who demanded I have this asinine 'birth plan' to begin with."

  "Yes, but the music was supposed to be soothing," Dusty reminded her.

  "What's not soothing about Mindless Self Indulgence?" she shot back, big-eyeing her. "I guess you never got to Pussy Liquor, did you?"

  "You're gonna be the first woman thrown out of a hospital in the middle of her delivery," Autumn declared.

  "Have the boys placed their bets on the sex yet?" Savvy asked.

  "Whatever Mark bets, pick the opposite," Scotti said, smiling, all of us knowing his terrible track record of losing the bet on the gender every damn time.

  "Hey, did you hear?" Peyton asked, wanting to change the subject. She hadn't been fond of pregnancy talk once she learned how gross delivery could be. I thought I had another fifty years at least before someone would watch me go to the bathroom. That was what she had said after reading one of the books Dusty had given her. Oh, honey, Fee had interjected, You're about to be a Mom. You won't go to the bathroom alone for the next eight years or so.

  "Did we hear what?" Savvs asked, looking up from the ring on her finger, still not used to seeing the shiny diamond there.

  "Nixon is bringing a date," she declared, brows raised.

  Because, well, no one thought we would see the day.

  Kingston and Rush?

  Sure.

  But Atlas and Nixon?

  Not so much.

  Then again, I had begun to think that exact thing about my boys right before they brought me home more daughters to love, to teach how to bake Earl Grey madeleines with.

  And talk about butt plugs.

  Because those were the kind of girls my boys brought home.

  And I freaking loved it.

  Girls badass in their own ways, raising another generation of hellion boys and, well, hellion girls too, if we had any say in the matter.

  "I'm too old to be stuck out there," Becca declared, walking in with all the exasperation a fourteen-year-old could. Which, as anyone who knew a fourteen-year-old girl knew, was a lot. "I want to be in here where it's fun."

  "Fun? We're slaving away," Fee declared, raising her glass of wine, taking an exaggerated sip.

  "I heard you laughing from the basement," Becca told her, raising her chin ever-so-slightly. "What was so funny?"

 
We might have been an open-minded bunch, but we all silently agreed that fourteen was just a tad too young to know we had been almost peeing ourselves over Fee's story about Hunt's mishap in the feminine care aisle as he tried to figure out what supplies to get her.

  No, no, Fee had gasped, holding her stomach, The best was when he showed me the box for the menstrual cup thinking it was... she broke off, laughing too hard to go on, Some kind of plug so you can just stick your finger in the middle, push it in, and hold all the blood in all day. Like it's a dam you can just stop. I'd carefully explained how it actually worked, asking how he thought it could possibly work any other way. He said he thought it was some new innovation and told me to handle my own 'mystical vaginal support' - and those were his words - items for myself next time.

  "Fine. Don't tell me," Becca said, flipping her hair over her shoulder. "Uncle Shane told me to ask you to explain your work to me," she went on instead, making Fee's arm stop with the wine halfway to her mouth.

  "So," she started, an old hand at this mothering thing, so hard to trip up. "You know how mommy is a young, vibrant woman in the prime of her life?"

  "Mom..." Becca moaned, embarrassed already.

  "And she still gets her period every month."

  "Oh, God... Mom... stop."

  "Well, sometimes it catches Mommy off-guard still. And she is uterus-deep in a pile of Kit-Kats, and she needs Daddy to go to the store to..."

  "Okay, okay. I'm going!" Becca said, holding up her hands as she backed out of the room.

  "It's fun when they're at the age where you can embarrass them," Fee declared. "Last week I greeted her group of friends in a silk robe with my No, Officer, I didn't kill my rich husband fuzzy, heeled slippers on, and went to grab a can of whipped cream out of the fridge. She was beet red in the face. Hunt and I totally just took turns spraying it into our mouths along with chocolate syrup while we watched Dragnet reruns, but, God, was the suggestiveness of it worth the look on her face. I wish I had snapped a picture to taunt her with forever."

  "Ma," Shane said, standing in the doorway, knowing it was a man-free zone while we were preparing.

  "Yeah, bub?" I asked, looking up from the potatoes I'd been skinning.

  "There's someone at the door."